Max did one of her half barks and half whines, which added up to a total command. “Max is ready for dinner. You hungry, Dave?” I was hoping to bounce some thoughts off Dave’s brow.
“Let’s eat,” he said.
“I’ll leave a note on Nick’s boat. Maybe he’ll be back in time to join us.”
I turned the camera on, locked Jupiter, left a note on Nick’s door, set the laptop on Dave’s, and we walked toward the tiki hut with Max following us.
Although the fish was cooked over hardwood to perfection, I had very little appetite. Max had a small hamburger patty served medium well. She ate from a paper plate on the wooden floor next to our table.
Kim brought us fresh Heinekens and said, “Max has better table manners than most of the people I serve.” Max cocked her head and seemed to nod. Kim beamed. “Coffee?”
“Grey Goose over ice and a squeeze of lime, Kim,” Dave added.
I said, “Coffee sounds good. It’ll keep awake for the drive home.”
Kim almost frowned. “You have a perfectly good boat to sleep on, at least I imagine it’s perfectly good for sleeping. Why the hurry?”
“I’m expecting visitors.”
After she left, Dave said, “I think she likes you.”
“Maybe. Maybe she’s just a little lonely. We know for sure Kim likes Max. She gets the free meals.” I sipped the Heineken. “Do you know much about human trafficking?”
“Big market overseas, especially in the sex trade. The women are stolen or duped into believing they are getting legitimate jobs in more prosperous countries. They incur false debt for transportation. They’re forced to work it off, on their backs.”
“It’s happening right here in America.”
“No doubt. You think this is somehow related to the girl you found?”
“I do.”
“How?”
“I think she was connected to one of these migrant camps because some soil in her shoe smelled like chemicals — fertilizers — something with a high phosphate count. But she wasn’t used as a farm worker. Maybe she was forced into prostitution and ran.”
Kim brought Dave his drink. He swirled the vodka and ice in his glass. “Modern day slavery, forced prostitution, human trafficking, right here in the land of the free.”
“I think this murder, and the one that came a few days later, is the work of the same killer that’s cutting one out of the herd when he feels the urge.”
“And they’re the least likely to be reported missing,” Dave said.
“The victim I found, she was just a kid. I think she was in the area and running from someone, maybe bolted from the perp’s car. She escaped and ran toward the river. He caught her. Probably thought he’d killed her on the banks of the river.”
“She was barely alive when you found her. Maybe she played dead and he left. Or perhaps someone scared him off.”
“I investigated some similar cases in Miami. The perp was called Bagman because he asphyxiated his victims with a plastic bag during the rape. There was duct tape near the victim I found. This tells me it was probably planned. I never caught Bagman. Now I know there have been at least fifteen sexual murders of Hispanic women in Florida, rural areas, starting after the Miami murders dwindled down to nothing.”
Dave stirred his ice. “The duct tape could be a similar MO, but maybe not.”
“You translated the words the girl whispered to me. ‘He has the eyes of the jaguar.’ The only victim to survive Bagman said she could never forget his eyes. She said they were like the eyes of a wildcat.”
TWENTY
I had awakened at dawn back at my river house. I let Max sleep in while I sipped a cup of coffee on the back porch and watched shadows fade away across the river. I slipped on my running shoes, went out the back door, and ran along the riverbank.
Later, when I climbed the steps to the back porch, Max was barking and running ran toward the front door, stopping to see if I was coming as her backup.
“It’s okay, Max. Could be someone asking for directions.” I picked up my Glock and wedged it in my shorts near my lower back.
The knock at the door was soft, almost apologetic. I opened the door, startling Detective Leslie Moore. “Mr. O’Brien,” she said, embarrassed. “Good morning.”
“Heard your fan belt the first time you drove by. Makes surveillance difficult.”
“I wasn’t on surveillance.” She looked at my damp T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. “Is this a bad time?”
“If you’re here to arrest me, it’s a bad time. Something else, not so bad, maybe.”
She smiled. “No, I’m not here to arrest you. You’d be the first to know I wouldn’t do that without backup. May I come in?”
“Door’s open.” As she stepped in the foyer, Max came running and barking.
She knelt down and greeted Max. “Good morning! How are you?” She petted Max’s head, instantly winning a friend. “She’s so cute.”
“Sometimes she’s like having a kid. I have to find a babysitter when I’m gone.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a dog or a baby.”
“Max was my wife’s baby. Now it’s just Max and me. We’re a river rats.”
“I know that your wife died. I’m sorry.”
“I bet you know that. Good cops usually know the bio of suspects. So you’re not afraid to be here alone with me?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re not a suspect. Never really was.”
I said nothing.
She was hesitant a moment. “Is there a place where we can sit and talk?”
“Sure, follow me.” I led her to my back porch.
“The view is beautiful,” she said, standing next to the screen, looking at the river. “This must be paradise, living way out here. The river is gorgeous.”
“I bought it out of an estate sale. Near foreclosure, I suspect. Always something to fix. Paradise needs a lot of Band-Aids.”
Detective Moore laughed. Her eyes danced for a moment watching a blue heron and a white egret take ballet steps in the water. “This is like a wildlife documentary. The birds seem oblivious to us.”
“They can’t see us. Factor in sunlight, trees and porch screen. It’s a window to nature. Would you like something? Coffee or water?”
“No thanks.”
“You didn’t drive here to look at wildlife. How can I help you, Detective?”
“This is my first murder case with Mitchell Slater.” She paused and looked toward the river. “We don’t have an ID on the vic yet because I’m not so sure we’re working that hard to find one.”
“Meaning?”
“We’ve run all the channels — DNA database — state and national, prints, photo sent to the FBI, FDLE and elsewhere. Nothing.”
“Someone knows who she is.”
“I wish they’d come forward. We will store all dental, anthropological and DNA records. But the body will be interred tomorrow. Buried as a Jane Doe. A number on the marker. No name.”
“Is there a connection to the Brevard homicide? MO? Anything physical?”
“We’re working with Brevard, sharing the information and resources. So far, nothing to correlate the two deaths except each victim was young, female, pretty, and Hispanic. I’m having a hard time following leads, not that I have a lot.”
“What’s the difficulty?”
“Slater.”
“Not surprising.”
“He doesn’t go out of his way to follow up on anything. And what I bring to the table he dismisses like it was a bad idea. He is pursuing you, and to some extent, Joe Billie. But there’s nothing there. He knows it, but he’s like a bulldog.”
“What’s his agenda?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been watching him, and I think he knows it. I believe he’s on the take from somebody…somebody with power and influence. He seems to be living way above his pay grade. Wears a Rolex when he’s off duty. Connected in the community and with the old Florida money.”